What they drink for is the brain-effect; and if it must come through the body, so much the worse for the body.
And yet, despite my physical loathing for alcohol, the brightest spots in my child life were the saloons.

Sitting on the heavy potato wagons, wrapped in fog, feet stinging from inactivity, the horses plodding slowly along the deep road through the sandhills, one bright vision made the way never too long.

The bright vision was the saloon at Colma, where my father, or whoever drove, always got out to get a drink.

And I got out to warm by the great stove and get a soda cracker.

Just one soda cracker, but a fabulous luxury.